


Retail Therapy

by torikabori



Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Universe - Human, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Gen, and b/y adopted the rubberhose baby, blue and yellow are married, diamond family, this is also secretly a bellow model au, white is yellow's mom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:35:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22521856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/torikabori/pseuds/torikabori
Summary: Because what else do you do when you're adopted by a couple of filthy rich old ladies, and everyone has some issues to work out?
Relationships: Blue Diamond & Spinel & White Diamond & Yellow Diamond (Steven Universe), Blue Diamond/Yellow Diamond (Steven Universe)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 147





	Retail Therapy

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a very quick oneshot, then spiraled out of control as all my fics tend to... I think I wound up experimenting with a sort of emotional storytelling that I'm not used to, and Spinel was tricky for me. I hope I did okay!

Spinel clutched her shopping bags tightly, grinning so hard that her cheeks hurt. She had two new jackets, three dresses, a small collection of shirts, and a sensible pair of heels. She had never owned such a thing as sensible heels before.

To her left, her new mother kept pace with her, smiling the bemused smile of one who was completely out of her element but trying to make the best of it. Indeed, she looked wildly out of place in this middle-class shopping mall; with one step to Spinel’s three, she swept across the dirty tiles in an ethereal blue gown, a fairy queen under fluorescent lights.

Privately, Spinel was glad it was just the two of them. She was still a little nervous about asking for things— she didn’t quite know what the rules were— but she was much more comfortable with Blue these days. Passers-by in the mall were staring at her like she was some sort of goddess, but ever since she and Spinel had spent a Friday evening together sobbing over Pixar movies and eating two family-sized boxes of Oreos, she had rather lost her air of intimidating mystery.

Yellow still had it, mostly. Her name was on the adoption papers just like Blue’s, but they had yet to spend more than an hour alone together. While she had given her blessing to this shopping trip, Spinel couldn’t imagine her helping to pick out jeans in the juniors’ section, or listening to a long ramble about cartoons on the ride here.

Spinel turned to glance at Blue, only to find her giving a withering look to a man in a perfume kiosk who had started to approach them with his wares.

Okay, so maybe Blue could be a little intimidating, if she wanted to be.

She noticed Spinel’s look. “They shouldn’t be so aggressive with that,” she explained, a little huffy. “I felt like I was walking through a toxic cloud, back at the first store.”

Spinel laughed. She wondered if Blue had ever seen that one episode of Spongebob. She’d had a kid before, right? Yet somehow Spinel doubted she had. She immediately added it to her growing mental list of things to put on Blue's giant television the next time they had a few hours to kill and a snack cabinet to empty out.

She adjusted her grip on her bags; they were starting to get heavy. She and Blue were passing by a section of the mall that mostly did not interest her: a chain restaurant, a sports store, a photography shop that displayed graduation photos and cute family Christmas pictures that she immediately averted her eyes from. Past that was a bookstore, a drugstore, and then a store for DVDs and movie paraphernalia, which she desperately wanted to go into on a day when she wasn’t loaded down with baggage.

Would Blue be willing to buy her any cartoon merch? She knew that was not strictly the purpose of this trip, but Blue was so nice, and they were having so much fun together. Maybe, if she played her cards right—

“Oh, Spinel, look!” Blue pointed at a store on the other side of the corridor, snapping her out of her thoughts. It was some kind of vintage shop, displaying a few very old posters: some famous band, a long-dead actress, and a beautiful model decked out in jewels.

Spinel frowned, hefting her bags again. Her shoulders were starting to hurt. “Look at what?”

Blue grinned and pointed at the picture of the model. “It’s your grandmother,” she explained.

Hearing someone so casually referred to as her family made Spinel feel some type of emotion she didn’t know how to process, so she hurried closer to the display. The lady in the advertisement was young— twenty, maybe— but she had the same dramatic makeup, the same queenly smile, the same ghostly gray eyes that saw right through a person. It was definitely White.

“I think this was when she first started wearing her own designs,” Blue commented, while Spinel stared at the poster. “The pants caused quite a stir.”

Was she selling the clothes or the jewels? Spinel almost asked, before remembering the answer: she was selling a lifestyle.

Spinel knew, of course, who this family was. She knew they had an empire of luxury brands, that White in particular was a fashion icon who had helped shape the very concept of the mall they were in.

“She looks young,” Spinel said finally, forcing on a smile. “When did this happen, the stone age?”

“Spinel!” Blue gasped as if scandalized, but she was smiling too. “It was the bronze age, at least.”

Spinel grinned in a way that made her cheeks hurt. Her stomach was starting to twist. “Can we go to the food court next?”

Blue gave her a puzzled look. “You don’t want something nicer?”

“I like cheap pizza. The grease has a special flavor.”

Blue snorted a little when she laughed. It made her sound slightly more like a real person. Spinel let her eyes linger for one more moment on the untouchable creature in the poster, then hurried off to the food court. She led the way, knowing instinctively where it would be.

Spinel had spent a lot of her young life in malls, either roaming around or working odd seasonal jobs. The last couple of summers, she had sold clothes at one just like this, before getting fired for fighting with a customer. She had walked around the place for hours afterward, staring through windows, trying things on, fantasizing about what she might buy with her last paycheck. She had lingered the longest on a gorgeous Diamond Line black dress, something sharp and elegant that made her look like a princess but feel like trash. She had admired herself, then sighed and put it back, then gone to the food court and spent her hard-earned pennies on greasy mall pizza instead. She had not even finished it; she had been crying too hard.

Maybe she should have gotten something else, she thought as she picked at her meal now. It tasted exactly the same.

“Did you get that special flavor?” Blue asked over the table. She had looked briefly at a doughnut shop menu before settling on a bottled water, which she drank with a straw and some green powder from her purse. Apparently her love of junk food at home did not extend to anything in public.

These tables were only about three feet across, yet the gulf between them had never seemed wider.

Spinel swallowed past the growing lump in her throat. “Yeah. It’s awesome.”

That seemed to please Blue. At least that was something; Spinel liked making people happy.

She ate in silence, trying not to pout. What was wrong with her? She had felt wonderful all morning and now she just felt like shit. Blue was doing all this nice stuff for her and she had suddenly stopped enjoying it. The old nagging fear was coming back, that this was the real reason she had not found a family until now— there was something wrong with her.

Blue stirred her water for a moment, watching her. “You know,” she said tentatively, “if you like White’s designs, we can have something made for you.”

Spinel shrank a little. “I dunno, I’m not exactly America’s next top model or anything. That stuff doesn’t really fit me.”

Blue gave her a look that might have been sympathetic, might have been pitying; Spinel had a hard time telling the difference. “It could, if you wanted. What is it they say— the clothes maketh the lady?” She smiled at her own joke. “But don’t feel pressured! White will survive. She got over her hopes for the rest of us, after all.”

“The rest of you?”

Blue rested her cheek on her hand. “Did Yellow ever tell you how we met?”

Spinel shook her head, then settled in for a story. She would be glad not to think about herself for a while.

“It was at one of White’s fashion shows. She was a little too old to model her own things, or so the world told her, so she dressed her daughter up instead. My father was a rival designer and he did the same with me. Yellow and I met in the dressing room, complained endlessly about our parents, and became best friends by the end of the day.” She smiled at the memory. “I remember thinking she was the prettiest girl I’d ever seen.”

Spinel nodded, although privately she chalked that up to wifely bias. She supposed Yellow was pretty enough for an old lady, but in a scary, stand-offish way that probably wouldn’t sell any lifestyles.

“You look doubtful,” Blue said slyly. “Here, I’ll show you.” She pulled out her phone and began typing. “This image was famous, it should be easy enough to… there we are.” She turned the device to show Spinel: another ad with White, but she looked older than in the last one, and her hair was different. She was covered in jewels and finery again, but the focus was on the teenage girl in front of her. They wore matching sleek silver dresses and White was delicately placing a tiara on the girl’s head while she looked fervently upwards.

The girl had light pink lipstick and long golden waves in an artful tumble around her shoulders, but there was something in the eyes and mouth… Spinel squinted at it. “Is that _Yellow_?”

“It is! This was before she cut her hair. She used to hate getting it done before a shoot.” Blue flipped through a few pictures of other young models. “She quit modeling after high school, but they usually styled her as an adult.”

She showed another picture: that strange pretty girl who could not possibly be Yellow was looking over her shoulder, her hips set at an angle that was almost seductive. She wore a fitted black dress much like the one Spinel had once tried on.

“This one I remember,” Blue said, chuckling. “We were sixteen. She was grounded from junior prom because she punched the photographer.”

Spinel snorted. “Sounds like we would’ve been friends,” she joked, then winced. She didn’t think Blue would approve of that sort of behavior now, and White obviously hadn’t at the time.

But Blue only smiled lovingly at the picture. “I think you would have. You’re so much alike.”

That was the most ridiculous thing she had heard in a while. She and Yellow, alike? She had more in common with that loser back at the perfume kiosk.

As the photos scrolled along, she tried to imagine it. Maybe if she was looking for it, she could see a spark in that pretty face, a little hint of a temper. But she still couldn’t reconcile this doe-eyed Barbie doll of a girl with the formidable lady she knew.

Blue was flipping through more pictures, apparently lost in the memories. “She was so good at acting for the camera. Look at this one— she snapped that heel in half with her bare hands, and here she is making it look as cozy as the ad claims. She could have been a career supermodel, if only she’d wanted it.”

“But she didn’t,” Spinel gathered. “Why’d she do it, then?”

“Oh, I suppose she did it for White at first, and then she was keeping me company. Haven’t you noticed? Yellow loves making us all happy.”

Spinel frowned. This conversation was getting more baffling with every moment. If Yellow cared what anyone else thought or felt, it was news to her. Sometimes Spinel wished she could be that cool.

“What about you?”

“Hm?”

“You said your dad had you doing this stuff too?”

“Ah, well, I wasn’t nearly as successful,” Blue demurred, her smile fading a bit as she began a new image search. “It might be harder to find… oh, here’s one. I did a few things with this brand.”

Teenage Blue was much the same as Yellow: thin, blandly pretty, with long hair and barely a hint of the imposing presence she would have as an adult. Even more bizarrely, she had been dressed in high-waisted pants and brightly colored shirts— the sort Yellow might wear today. “Not really your style anymore, huh?”

“I’m not sure it was back then, either.” Blue lingered on a few more pictures, then sighed and put her phone away. “Of course, I look at these now and forget how relieved we were when we left. I was never very good at selling things, and Yellow only likes to dress up and perform on her own terms.”

Spinel bit her lip. Maybe that was one thing she understood.

“I used to work at a mall like this,” she found herself admitting. Besides that stupid clothing store, she had spent two- and three-week stints peddling hats, flip-flops, scented candles. “I sold a lot of different stuff.”

Blue gave her another one of those maybe-sympathy-maybe-pity smiles. “Did you like any of it?”

Spinel took a breath. There was one seasonal job she had loved, and it was the worst of all of them.

“You know those dumb Christmas things they have at malls sometimes? Where the kids sit in Santa’s lap?” She doubted Blue had been to one, but she went on, picking at a discarded straw wrapper. “I was an elf. I used to talk to the people in line, entertain them a little, get the kids excited. They got nervous about meeting Santa.”

“How adorable!” Blue looked about to start cooing at the very idea. “I bet you were wonderful at that.”

“Yeah, I was great. I used to sing and everything. Would you believe I actually liked all those Christmas oldies and showtunes? Like a stage mom or something.”

Blue tilted her head. “Showtunes?”

“Yeah, like Broadway and stuff. Disney movies. I used to sing those when I ran out of Christmas songs. I wasn’t supposed to— off brand, you know?— but the kids and moms were into it, so… yeah.” The memory was hard. She did not want to say how much she had loved that terrible job, how it had been her only creative outlet, how she had discovered her passion for bringing out smiles. She had dreamed once— when she had not dreamed of her favorite volunteer coming back for her— that she might go home with a family of actors.

She twisted the straw wrapper between her fingers, trying to forget those stupid dreams. She especially wanted to forget how she had done all those performances for happy families, how despite loving her work she had cried every night after clocking out.

Blue was staring at her, an odd look on her face. “Have you ever seen a Broadway show?”

Spinel shrugged. “Just movie versions and some bootlegs. There was a lady back at the orphanage who liked them, but…” She shrugged again. How was she supposed to explain that even movie tickets had rarely been in the budget? Blue probably flew to New York whenever she felt like it.

Blue sipped her water delicately. “Let’s look at the calendar when we get home. I’m sure we can fit something in around the holidays, if you’d like. New York is lovely in December.”

Spinel blinked at her. “ _If_ I’d like? Are you serious?”

“Of course I am. But you’ll need another outfit for that,” she added with a conspiratorial wink. “Shall we continue?”

“I— yeah. Yeah!” Spinel gathered her many bags. Blue made it sound so simple— like she could just _have_ things now, if she only asked for them. She never would have expected that.

But she also never would have thought she would get adopted at seventeen, so maybe she should start rethinking what was possible. She took a small breath, steeling herself.

“Hey, Blue?”

“Hm?”

“Can we go to Hot Topic next?”

Blue gave her an indulgent smile that said she had no idea what she was in for.

Spinel found herself humming “Anything Goes” as they trotted down to her favorite store. Hot Topic, sadly, had lost its edge in the last couple of years; chain-covered Tripp pants had given way to Funko Pops and pastel cartoon tees, and the punk selection was pitiable. But at least the music wouldn’t scare Blue away.

“Look,” she said, holding up a pair of Finding Nemo shirts. Blue had cried the hardest over that movie. “We can match!”

Blue was staring at her in that odd way again. “You want to wear those to the show?”

“I was thinking we could just run around the city like a couple of clowns.” She rifled through the shirts, trying to find something that had three extra-larges and one small. “Maybe all four of us can do it! I used to see so many families with these ugly matching holiday outfits. If a bunch of Karens and their spawn can pull it off, why not three ex-models and North Pole Wonderland’s youngest-ever Employee of the Month?” She seized on a set of Lilo and Stitch tanks, then stopped herself. She felt Blue’s silence like a weight on her back.

“But, um, I guess Yellow and White wouldn’t be into something like that, huh?”

She set down the shirts, smoothing out the rubbery picture of the ugly little alien and the word _ohana_. They weren’t even her style, she reminded herself. She plastered on her smile before turning around. “I’m too old for it anyway! Can I pick out some other stuff to try on?”

Blue was typing something into her phone. “Hm? Oh, yes, of course. Whatever you like.” She gave Spinel a distracted smile. “I’ll just wait by the fitting rooms with your things.”

Spinel loaded her arms up with stuff and did her best not to mope. Matching outfits were such a stupid thing to want, and she _was_ too old for it.

In the end, she only asked for a few sets of stockings and hair clips. Blue, miraculously, was the one to point out a pair of pinstripe shorts with suspenders that were Spinel’s favorite purchase of the day. She stared longingly at the matching bowtie, but did not ask. She had already been given so much.

When they finally got to the car a few hours later, she felt guilty; the bags nearly filled up the trunk. Was all this really okay?

But Blue just shooed her away from the shameful sight and into the car that was much too nice for this mall parking lot.

“I was thinking,” Blue said as she pulled up the directions on the built-in GPS, “why don’t we have White over for dinner? She’ll want to see your new things.”

Now Spinel frowned. She had gotten the impression that White had very strong opinions about other people’s clothes. “Sure?” she said, wary. “Does she really want to drive over during rush hour, though?”

“Oh, she’s used to far longer trips. She’s just a bit further than us, and we’ll only be… fifty-three minutes.” Blue pouted at the GPS, as if it might change its estimate if she gave it puppy-dog eyes. Then she seemed to get an idea. “But we have music! Check the glove compartment.”

The “glove compartment” was in fact a slow-opening miniature cabinet with a drawer that unfolded like something out of a sci-fi movie. Spinel glanced to the side, still not over the fact that Blue was driving this car herself like a normal person, and not being chauffeured around while she lounged with champagne in the back. It was that kind of car.

Blue pressed a button to start the engine, then pulled smoothly out of the parking lot. Spinel tried to discreetly wipe her sweaty hands on her lap, then reached into the fancy cabinet to find a heavy black case, only vaguely familiar from her early childhood. “This car takes CDs?”

“My dear Yellow will not allow her favorite music to be compressed into digital files, and I will not allow half of our car to be taken up with vinyl record storage,” Blue said delicately. “What you hold in your hands is the family get-along device.”

Spinel snorted. Yellow was stubborn about some things, but Blue could be just as bad. “I’ll try not to get fingerprints on it. I’m, uhh, guessing these are color-coded?” It had divider tabs in white, yellow, blue, and green. There was an awkward space and some empty slots between the placement of the blue and green sections, as if another color used to be there.

“Try about a third of the way in,” Blue suggested as she stopped at a light. “We’ll be in here a while, so pick your favorite.”

Spinel flipped through the CD case dubiously, until the titles started jumping out at her. Original Broadway Cast this, 10th Year Revival that, Special Editions… a treasure trove of stage music. She checked the tabs again. “This is the yellow section!”

Blue smiled at the rearview mirror, eyes glittering with mischief. “Pick your favorite,” she said again. “We’ll need to practice, if we want her to sing along with us.”

For the first time that day, Spinel felt confident. “Hey, I’m a professional. I can make _anyone_ sing along.”

After an hour and a half of traffic and karaoke, Spinel was tired but happy. Her feet and arms were sore from shopping, her throat was sore from the ride home, but she was comfortable. Blue had even sung with her for most of it, though her voice was too soft to hear.

She almost felt like a normal kid, out on an adventure with her mom. Almost, even when they turned into Blue and Yellow’s long private driveway and came home to their mansion.

That part, she still wasn’t used to.

Inside, the house smelled amazing. None of the family really knew how to cook, but they did know how to host. There was some kind of fancy Italian takeout warming in the oven, the dining room table set for four like it was a proper dinner party.

Ever since Spinel had started living here, they had eaten together like this every night. She wondered, sometimes, if they were just putting on a show for their guest— but this was awfully long to keep up such a charade.

They found Yellow in the kitchen, typing away on her laptop with a stack of papers on the table— her usual position when she was not at the office.

“Knock knock, Yellow,” Blue called as she led Spinel into the room. “Pasta again tonight?”

Yellow looked up, and this time Spinel noticed her eyes softening a bit when she saw them. Did that always happen?

“Everyone likes it.” Yellow closed her computer and began gathering her papers, pausing for a moment so Blue could kiss her cheek in greeting. “Successful trip?”

_I learned a bunch of your dirty secrets_ , Spinel almost blurted out. Instead she lifted her bags in triumph. “I have heels now!”

“They’re lovely,” Blue added. “She looks just darling, Yellow, you have to see. The selection has gotten so much better since we last went.”

“Well, I hope your new things go with the rest. White’s on her way and you know how she gets.” Yellow shook her head in a resigned sort of way. “I hope you’re prepared.”

“Lucky I’m gonna look so cute she won’t be able to say anything,” Spinel declared. She dug out her new suspenders. “Check these out! I can wear ‘em with plenty of my old stuff, don’t you think?”

Yellow chuckled. “Yes, but what about…” She trailed off as she looked at Blue, who was bustling about the kitchen fetching water or something. Either Blue didn’t notice her wife looking at her, or she was pretending not to.

Yellow’s mouth twitched, subtly but just enough for Spinel to notice. “Hm. Actually, Spinel, why don’t you show me a few of these while we wait? White might be a few minutes.”

“Sure,” Spinel said quickly, and hurried out. Suddenly she was nervous again. What was that look about— had she done something wrong? Was this not okay after all? She had learned a lot about Yellow today, but it hit her now that Yellow had not willingly told her any of it. Would she be upset?

She took her time changing, trying pick something Yellow would like. She decided on her most grown-up look from the day and carried her new heels down the stairs. When she paused to put them on, she heard a whispered argument.

“—can’t just spring these things on people. What were you thinking?”

“I was _thinking_ you both might be happy to share this. It’s been weeks, Yellow, you can’t keep up this act up forever.”

“Just because I don’t have all _that_ constantly on display doesn’t make it an _act_ —”

“Well, either way I think you’re being silly. The worst she can say is that she’s not interested—”

Spinel shouldn’t listen much longer, or they would get suspicious. She crept up a couple of stairs, then loudly clip-clopped down in her heels so they would know she was coming.

“Ta-daaaa!” She burst into the room and gave a twirl, although the narrow grown-up skirt didn’t have the swish or flounce that the move required. “I’m a proper young lady!”

They both smiled at her, although it was a little bit strained. “That you are,” Yellow agreed. “You look ready for an interview.”

“Wait, wait!” Spinel pulled out her pigtails and tied her hair in a bun instead. It was how White often had hers, under all those fabulous hats. And probably with something nicer than a pink scrunchy. “ _Now_ I’m ready.”

That got a laugh out of them. “Why don’t you add the hair clips you got from the emo store?” Blue suggested. “The purple ones would look lovely.”

“That’s not too… I don’t know, childish?”

“You’d be surprised what you can get away with if you wear it without any shame,” Blue said sagely. She did so with a pointed look at Yellow, who openly frowned in response.

“Let’s see another one,” Yellow suggested, not quite meeting Spinel’s eyes. “Maybe an everyday look.”

Spinel knew when she was dismissed. She hurried off and took her time picking the next unobjectionable thing she had gotten: nice blouse, nice jacket, and some plain black pants that she didn’t really love but were apparently a wardrobe essential. She looked briefly at the hair clips— one of them had polka dots that matched the color of her blouse— then decided against it. She took her hair out of its scrunchy and wore it around her shoulders, wishing it didn’t look so messy.

When she returned, Yellow was alone in the room, frowning at her phone.

Spinel did another twirl, more subdued this time. “What do you think?”

“It’s certainly… different,” Yellow observed. “Not your usual style.”

What was wrong with that? She barely had a ‘usual style.’ Her tastes were so weird and specific, and she could never afford to dress the way she wanted. Why shouldn’t she just suck it up and look nice for once?

She swallowed, trying desperately not to let her frustration show. “But it looks okay, right?”

“Of course it does,” Yellow allowed, not looking particularly excited about it. “If that’s what you want.”

Luckily, Blue came back— Spinel did not know what would have happened if she had asked what the hell Yellow meant by that— and she was brandishing a photo album, of all things. “I found them!”

Spinel getting that horrible feeling that she had been left out of something. “Found what?”

Yellow beckoned her over while Blue sat down excitedly two spaces away, leaving a spot for Spinel to settle in between them. Reluctantly she did so, and Blue put the album in her hands.

“Remember when you asked about matching outfits earlier?” Blue asked excitedly.

“Yeah…?” Spinel opened the thing, bewildered. It had a bunch of old Polaroids: a candid shot of young White with a baby, the same baby in a miniature version of one of White’s hats, a slightly bigger baby in a different silly hat.

“It was just a marketing stunt at first,” Yellow said, not nearly as excited. “Then things got out of hand.”

The photos switched to color as Spinel began flipping through: a toddler in a little lady’s suit, White and a kindergartner in matching fur-lined coats. Another one with White and the kid, this time with fitted blouses and miniskirts. The kid’s hair stuck up in the front, in a very familiar way.

“Hold the phone,” Spinel said, staring at one with short dresses and matching hairsprayed updos, “are these…?”

“It got out of hand,” Yellow repeated, while Blue just laughed.

She kept going. The child in the photos got bigger and bigger, slowly turning into the pretty model that Spinel had seen earlier today. In every single image, she wore a ridiculous matching ensemble with her mom.

Spinel could hardly believe it. “Oh my god,” she said, laughing at one with silk scarves and huge bell-bottom pants. “Oh my god, this was a _thing_ with you guys.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Yellow sighed.

There were so many: evening dresses, casual wear, beach outfits, winter coats. This was a curated timeline of high fashion, told through a series of incredibly dorky mother-daughter moments.

Spinel found herself grinning as she flipped through the late teenage years, giggling at Yellow’s retro hair. “These are amazing. How did you find all this stuff?”

“White doesn’t _find_ clothes.”

“She made them,” Blue said excitedly. “And not just that—”

She was interrupted by the front door slamming open. 

“Spinel!” White’s voice called from the foyer. “I’ve brought your things!”

She finally looked away from the photos to frown at her each of them in turn. “What things?”

“We’re in here!” Blue called, while Yellow pinched the bridge of her nose.

White burst into the room, dressed to the nines as usual with an elaborate hat and loud heels that gleefully tracked dirt into the house. “Spinel, darling, whatever are you wearing?” She whipped off her long coat and tossed it behind her, onto a young lady who just barely managed to catch it. “Come here and let me see you. Where did you buy that jacket? It’s not one of mine.”

Spinel put down the photo album and showed her. “From Macy’s! It’s cute, right?”

“Macy’s!” she cried. “I can’t believe you’re shopping at Macy’s. Oh, Blue, how could you dress her in something straight off the discount rack? Take that off, dear. It’ll have to be tailored, at the very least.”

“ _You_ sell things at Macy’s,” Yellow pointed out, eyeing the dirt on her floor.

“Only because I’m old enough to know better! Spinel, you mustn’t go slumming until you know what you’re doing. Look at this seam, for heaven’s sake.” She plucked at the lapel of Spinel’s new jacket, her long nails threatening to pull the threads loose.

Spinel grabbed it reflexively. She knew White was just old, she knew she couldn’t help it, but that still poked directly at her biggest fear. Was that what they were all doing with her— slumming? She could feel her face heating up.

“Mother,” Yellow said sharply, “she likes that jacket.”

“There’s no need to take that tone with me,” White huffed, but she stopped plucking. “I only want the best for our baby. You know that, don’t you, darling?” She patted Spinel’s cheek.

Spinel nodded. “Sure,” she said, wondering if Yellow would dare roll her eyes like that if White had been facing her. “I get it.”

Luckily, Blue was there to change the topic. “White, didn’t you say you had something for Spinel?”

“Oh! Yes. Bring that in, won’t you?” She waved her hand at someone in the doorway.

Before White, Spinel had never known a real person who kept a household staff. Spinel had yet to learn any of their names; as far as she knew, the one struggling with White’s coat was Twig, and the one now carrying three large storage boxes into the room was Beef. Like their boss, they both wore shoes in the house.

“Of course we couldn’t get everything,” White lamented, as Beef set the boxes down next to her. “Especially since someone insisted on throwing so much away, for some ridiculous reason.”

“Reasons like physical growth and finite closet space” was the muttered reply, but Spinel hardly heard it: White had opened the lid, revealing something bright gold and covered in frills.

“No fucking way,” she said before she could stop herself. Luckily White just laughed.

The box was stuffed to bursting with things from the photographs. Hats, shirts, skirts, even jewelry— all in sets of two.

“These are much higher quality than what you’ll find at one of those dirty malls,” White explained as Spinel pulled out piece after piece. “I made them to last. One day you might wear them with your own daughter.”

That was a long way off, Yellow and Blue protested, but Spinel had found an atrocious paisley shirt and rectangular vest that she recognized from one of the photos. She began to laugh— not just at the silly clothes but at the absurdity of the whole situation. She laughed until there were tears in her eyes. She might have actually started crying, but luckily her audience was too busy to notice; Yellow was trying to coax them to dinner, Blue was handling White’s staff as they brought in more boxes, and White herself was holding one item after another up to Spinel’s shaking body, going on and on about how they might be altered and how they were still so much better than anything else she had.

Eventually, Yellow succeeded in maneuvering them to the dinner table. White held court as usual, regaling them with stories of her days as a model, an artist, a businesswoman; Blue added a few of her own, and prompted White to tell her favorites. Spinel learned of three more occasions where Yellow had gotten violent on set, several where she terrorized middle managers who were supposed to be her superiors, and one where she had made an executive twice her age cry. It occurred to Spinel that although the world knew Yellow’s reputation, she had never actually witnessed that legendary temper. She laughed at the stories and hoped she would never would.

Weirdly, Blue prodded Spinel herself for stories too, as if her humiliating job as a mall mascot were just as interesting as the escapades of a world-famous fashion queen and her ill-tempered protege.

Even weirder, they all seemed to think Spinel _was_ that interesting. She told them about the first time a kid had fear-peed on Santa’s lap, and how she had entertained the whole Saturday evening crowd while he went to go change. She told them about the times she had settled fights between siblings, or even between parents. She told them about the few times people had liked her so much they had given her things— candy, holiday kitch, even a small bottle of eggnog once when they had overestimated her age. That one always made people laugh.

She did not tell them about the kids who had hit her, the parents who had yelled at her, or that she had been forced to give all gifts over to management. She did not tell them the eggnog came from a grown man who had asked for her number about ten times over the course of three days.

Spinel might be only seventeen, but she was a skilled entertainer and she knew what audiences loved. This one listened to her with the same fascination that the mall customers had, and she found herself slipping into the role again. She was always happy, always funny. They were here to have a great time.

After dinner was the fashion show. Spinel was dressed up like a doll, measured and pinned and posed like White’s personal model. Blue cooed and snapped pictures, and even Yellow smiled at her antics. Spinel was enjoying the production too, just like she had on really good nights at the old job. For a couple of hours, she could live the fantasy of being a fashion princess, of being adored without any effort, of being lovely enough to make these dusty old things come alive.

Eventually, however, the magic had to end. White’s staff returned to take her home, and after loudly kissing the top of Spinel’s head and promising to bring more heaps of clothes and accessories, the old lady swept out of the house with the same whirlwind she had brought in. Blue took her leave as well, making some fuss about cleaning up after dinner and then sedately going up the stairs to begin her nightly routine.

“Well,” Yellow said, once she and Spinel were alone, “I suppose it’s my job to deal with all this.”

Like a beautiful carriage turned back into a pumpkin, the boxes of treasures just looked like a mess now. Coats were strewn all over the couch, necklaces and hats in a pile. Dresses spilled over the edges of one box, their adornments making it impossible to stuff them back in. A fur scarf wound itself around a stack of shoes.

“Over thirty years with that woman and she still has me doing all the heavy lifting,” Yellow sighed, with an exasperated sort of fondness. She began gathering things off the floor.

Spinel hurried to help, although her arms were still sore from the day. She tried to get the box of dresses and found she could barely move it an inch. “Want me to go get her?”

“Don’t bother.” With very little apparent effort, Yellow took the box out of her hands and lifted it up, balancing the great heavy thing on her shoulder. “I’m used to it.”

Spinel re-packed all the scattered items while Yellow carried full boxes upstairs, moving the mess into Spinel’s room with assembly-line efficiency. At the end of the chore, her room had more containers covering the carpet than it had the day she moved in. And there was more still to come.

She swallowed hard. This was so much.

“Who would’ve thought White had a hoarding problem?” she joked, nervously looking up at Yellow.

“Ha. This is the tip of the iceberg— she has an entire room devoted to hats and purses.” She knelt to rearrange a few of them, lingering on a little yellow one that didn’t have a match. “That said, she usually doesn’t have a problem getting rid of things. You wouldn’t believe how often she’ll wear something once and toss it out.” She turned the hat over in her hands, finding a large tag where Spinel could see her name written in a child’s messy scrawl. “It’s only these matching sets that she won’t get rid of. I suppose we ought to thank you for clearing out her closet.”

Spinel shrugged. Suddenly she just wanted to go to bed. “Aw, well, what are kids for? I love hand-me-downs.”

Yellow frowned at her. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?” Spinel’s frustration was boiling up again. Maybe it was her exhaustion from the day’s emotional roller-coaster, maybe it was the smell of all these old things reminding her of the used clothes she had grown up on.

Maybe she had just had enough of putting on a show.

“Am I doing something wrong?” she demanded. “You’ve been weird all night. Did you not like the stuff I got? I know I’m not a supermodel or a fashion designer or whatever. I’m not pretty and I don’t have good taste. But I’m trying my best, okay? If you don’t want me to do something then just spit it out already!”

Yellow was silent for a long, painful moment. Then she said finally, “This is exactly what I was afraid of.”

Spinel flinched. She hadn’t ever used that tone with this family before. Was this it? Would they finally realize she wasn’t worth all this and leave her somewhere?

Her chest felt tight as her anger rapidly dissolved into fear. Her head began to swim with a familiar refrain: _you fucked up, you fucked up, you ruined everything—_

“Spinel. Look at me.”

Stomach twisting, eyes watering, she forced herself to do it. She wasn’t a little kid anymore; she shouldn’t act like one.

Yellow was still kneeling, just below Spinel’s eye level. She held up the little hat that had her color and her name. “Do you want this?”

Spinel felt like she was going to throw up. “It’s not like I’m ungrateful or anything—”

“That’s not what I asked,” Yellow cut her off sharply. “Do you want it? If you saw this thing in the store today, would you buy it with your own money?”

What sort of game was this? She couldn’t afford that with her own money and they both knew it.

“Answer honestly.”

Spinel looked at it again. Maybe if she played along this would be less painful somehow. Did she even like hats?

Slowly, shamefully, she shook her head.

Yellow set it to one side. “Good. Next one.” She held up a long skirt that reached well past Spinel’s ankles. “Do you want this?”

That one was easier; although she still didn’t know any of the rules, she was pretty sure Yellow didn’t like those flowy skirts either. “No…”

It went off to the side with the hat. “What about this?”

An ivory dress liberally decorated with lace. “No.”

Next was that awful paisley shirt. In spite of her terror, its ugliness still made her want to smile. She reached out to touch it again: the fabric was softer than it looked, and it was just her size.

“Can I…?”

“Of course you can.” Yellow placed it in her hands, then reached into the box again. “Next. Yes or no?”

Spinel looked at all the boxes, realizing just how long this was going to prolong her dread. She dared to ask, “Are we really gonna do this with everything?”

Yellow sat back on her heels, grimacing. “I’m prepared to do this all night, if that’s what it takes for you to give an honest opinion. You said _I’ve_ been acting strange; you think I didn’t notice you checking our reactions every time you wanted to say something? Next.” She held up a brown plaid skirt with pleats like an anime schoolgirl’s. “Yes or no?”

“N-no,” she said, startled. “I just don’t wanna mess this up. No,” she said to a big fur coat.

“Hm. I don’t know who explained this arrangement to you, but if anything gets ‘messed up,’ it won’t be you who’s responsible.” She held up four different necklaces, dangling them from her fingers. “Any of these?”

One had a gaudy pink rock in the shape of a heart. She grasped at it and left the rest. “What’s that mean?”

“It means you’re still a child and you ought to act like it. None of this tip-toeing around our feelings. We made a commitment to you and we’re not about to break it over something as silly as personal taste.”

She said it as if the whole idea was absurd. As if it should be obvious that they wanted her to stay.

As she talked, Yellow continued to present her with things, one at a time. Spinel turned down three patterned shirts and accepted a short dress with cartoonishly large buttons, trying to wrap her head around it all. She still felt like she was playing pretend.

“It’s… it’s not just that,” she said, although she hated to point it out. “You guys are all these hot-shot billionaire supermodels, and I’m just… nobody.”

Finally Yellow stopped moving. She regarded Spinel like a school principal might regard a delinquent, lips pursed and eyebrows raised. “Who told you that?”

Spinel shrugged miserably. She did not need to be told. She wasn’t completely stupid; anyone could see how out of place she was here. “It’s just kind of obvious.”

Yellow looked supremely unimpressed. “Obvious. So you just heard we used to get photographed for a living, and thought it all sounded very glamorous, hm? You saw all the pretty pictures and decided we didn’t have a care in the world, is that it?”

Spinel shrugged again.

Yellow shook her head. “You know, White is one thing, but I’m surprised Blue can look back on those years with any sort of fondness. You heard the stories— I used to hit my photographers and yell at my staff. Does that sound like the behavior of a happy person to you?”

Spinel frowned. Now that she thought about it, Blue had somewhat implied that Yellow didn’t like her old job. “But…”

“But what, I was famous? I was good at it? I’m good at plenty of things that don’t make me homicidal.”

“But Blue said—”

“Blue likes to romanticize the past, regardless of what actually happened. Did she tell you why we quit? She was so ill she had no choice. As for me— the less said about the person I was back then, the better. Barring the obvious exception, those were some of the most miserable years of my life.”

That startled Spinel enough to openly stare at her. She hadn’t even thought of that— that Yellow might not like going through these memories. And Blue… Spinel wracked her brain. Blue had been less enthused about her own pictures, hadn’t she? Was all this painful for her too?

“Sorry,” Spinel stammered. “I didn’t mean… I thought…”

“Oh, stop that. It wasn’t your fault we had terrible childhoods.”

Apparently considering the subject closed, Yellow began holding up clothes again. Spinel rejected another three hats before she got the courage to ask, “Is that why you didn’t want me knowing about this stuff?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Ever since we came home you’ve been grumpy. Are these— is all this hard to think about?”

For a moment Yellow looked uncomfortable. “No,” she said shortly. When Spinel kept staring at her, she huffed. “These things here— these were from a time when we thought I might be a designer one day. I was allowed to choose most of them. I was… happy, for a while.” She drew out a short dress with absurd shiny polka-dots, one that had fit Spinel almost perfectly. “I think I was ten or so when I picked this.”

Spinel’s fingers itched to take it, but she held herself back. “So what, you’re embarrassed or something?”

“Of course not. I was ten.” She twitched the dress a little, making the pattern shimmer. “Yes or no?”

“Yes,” Spinel admitted. Yellow gave it to her and went for the next thing without a second thought, apparently not caring at all that she liked something so childish. She didn’t seem to care about anything; they got to the end of the box and Yellow had not expressed a single opinion on anything in it. Businesslike, she went onto the next one.

“Do _you_ like anything in here?” Spinel finally asked. “I mean, I’ll wear whatever.”

“What I like is irrelevant.”

“Not to me!”

Yellow paused again, frowning at her. “I know,” she said after another uncomfortable silence. “That’s the problem.”

“What, that I wanna know you better? That maybe I don’t like living with a total stranger?” She winced; that hadn’t come out right. “S-sorry.”

“For god’s sake, stop apologizing. It certainly wasn’t _you_ who brought all this up.”

“Brought what up?”

They turned— Yellow annoyed, Spinel terrified— to see Blue, standing in the doorway, her hair tied up in a towel and her face glistening with her expensive eye cream. She smiled at them both, though it faltered a little at their expressions. “What are you girls doing in here?”

“Going through Yellow’s old stuff,” Spinel tried to say, while Yellow answered firmly, “Organizing Spinel’s new things.”

Yellow frowned hard at Spinel, then up at her wife. “Apparently there’s been a misunderstanding.” She said it like an accusation. “Blue, what on earth happened today? She was fine this morning.”

“Is she not fine now?” Blue came over to kneel on the floor with them, apparently undaunted by Yellow’s ire. “Spinel, what’s wrong?”

“Ask Yellow,” Spinel muttered petulantly. “She’s the one who won’t tell me anything.”

“What do you want to know? I’ll tell you,” Blue offered with a small smile.

“Blue!”

But Blue just hushed Yellow with a hand on her arm, and nodded at Spinel.

With an ally it was easier. “Why doesn’t she want me knowing stuff? First you had to get all sneaky with inviting White over, then the music, and now she’s making me go through all these boxes again and she won’t even tell me why!”

“There wouldn’t be an issue if you weren’t sneaking around! And what’s this about music?”

“Oh, we went through your Broadway collection in the car,” Blue said cheerfully, to Yellow’s further sputtering outrage. “Calm down, dear, you’ll frighten her.”

“You had no right—”

“And why not?” Finally Blue was not smiling anymore. “I’m curious too, Yellow. Why haven’t you two gotten to know each other yet? It’s long overdue. At this rate you’re going to make the poor thing feel unwelcome.”

“I’m not making her unwelcome,” Yellow shot back, then demanded of Spinel, “Am I?”

“A little,” she admitted.

For once Yellow was speechless. She glanced between the two of them, a muscle twitching in her jaw.

Blue laid a hand over hers, softening. “What are you so afraid of?”

“It’s not that I’m afraid,” Yellow protested, though there was no heat in it anymore. “I just don’t want to repeat history.”

When neither of them understood, she sighed. “When I was a girl, I knew exactly what my mother liked. I knew what she didn’t like. I knew when my own opinions differed, and I usually knew better than to share them.” She took a breath. “You’ve seen how White can be. We get along well enough now, but there was a time when it seemed… impossible to be myself at home.”

Spinel thought about that. If Yellow hadn’t been Yellow— if she had just been an ordinary little girl— she could imagine how terrifying it might be, disagreeing with White. Spinel herself would never have stood a chance. She was ashamed, sometimes, of the things she had put up with over the years.

“My parents were the same,” Blue said. “But love, that was a long time ago.”

“Not that long. When we first had a daughter of our own, we acted the way we’d been taught. You know we did,” she added, which made Blue look away in shame, “and it made her just as miserable as it made us.”

This was dangerous territory. Yellow never talked about their first kid— never. And although Spinel had known that their family could not have been completely perfect, she had never seen Blue so much as imply it.

After a tense pause, as if she had to collect herself, Yellow went on, “I don’t want that for you, Spinel. I know my interests are unusual and I didn’t want you to feel pressured to share them.” She paused again and met her eyes. “I don’t want you to end up like me.”

Spinel didn’t know what to say to that.

“I suppose I did get a little carried away,” Blue said quietly, after a moment. “Before we left this morning, Yellow asked me to figure out what you liked. I was so excited when I realized you had things in common, I got ahead of myself. I do that now and then— I get lost in my own fantasies.” She gave Spinel a smile that was just a little bit sad. “I know we’re all very different. I hoped sharing these things might help you feel that you belonged here.”

Spinel bit her lip. She liked this family, so much— even White. She wanted to be part of it so badly it was like a physical ache. She wanted it so much, in fact, that her heart had refused to believe it was possible, and it had never occurred to her that it might already be true. They all seemed so much larger than life, it had never occurred to Spinel that any of them might be just like her— an awkward, lonely nerd who put on a big performance and hid all her weird niche interests in the hopes that her new family might accept her.

She looked down; she was still holding the pink heart necklace, nervously twisting it around her fingers. The rock was big, but it shone like a real gemstone. Knowing the wealth at play, it probably was. It was kind of funny, really; so much expense had gone into making it, and it looked so tacky. Like the polka-dot dress and the paisley shirt, it was so ugly and ridiculous and unapologetically silly that she just had to love it. If Yellow had picked it out— a long time ago, sure, but she had— then maybe she could understand that feeling. Maybe Blue could, too. After all, they had both picked _her_ out, hadn't they?

Spinel still didn’t feel like she belonged. But for the first time, she started to think that one day, she might.

“I was excited too, you know,” she said once she was pretty sure she wouldn’t cry. “About the music. And the outfits, and everything.” She took a shaky breath and squeezed the ugly necklace. _Her_ ugly necklace. “We should make more like this,” she said, holding it up. “Maybe in different colors. We can still be matching even if we’re not the exact same.”

“That’s a wonderful idea,” Blue said. “Did you want to do that with the rest of these things, too?”

Spinel looked around at all the boxes. She hadn’t fit into everything— but maybe she didn’t need to. “I still want some of it. But this stuff is all pretty old. We’re a new family, right? So we should have some new stuff.”

“I like that thinking.” Finally Yellow was beginning to smile again. It looked genuine. “Perhaps you can do the honors and design something for us.”

Spinel tried to smile back. “Only if you’re okay with bowties and combat boots.”

“Bowties, hm?” Blue nudged at Yellow. “Shall I get your collection?”

“ _Collection?_ ”

Yellow crossed her arms indignantly, although she was still smiling. “Oh, by all means, expose me more. Next you’ll be telling her about the martial arts phase, or the shoulder pad debacle.”

“Yeah, expose her! I wanna hear everything. What else are you hiding, Yellow? A motorcycle collection? A Rocky Horror phase?”

“Spinel, please,” she said, while Blue began to laugh helplessly. “We were gay teenagers in the seventies. We _invented_ the Rocky Horror phase.”

“Speak for yourself, it wasn’t a phase for me.” Blue was still laughing. “Are we adding fishnets to the group outfits, then?”

“Can we?” Spinel was nearly jumping with excitement. “Yellow, can we?”

“Of course we can, I’m not a coward.” She was grinning now, as if Spinel’s happiness was all she had wanted to see. “What else are we wearing?”

“Shorts with suspenders,” she said, gaining courage. “Sparkly shades and fingerless gloves. And black leather jackets with shoulder spikes and big honkin’ pink letters on the back that say Bad Bitch Number One, Two and Three!”

“Now _there’s_ an outfit,” Yellow declared, cackling. “We’re going to look fantastic. I take it back, Blue— we should have told her about this sooner.”

“We should have brought her home sooner.” Blue reached up to ruffle Spinel's hair. “Where have you been all this time, my little fashion icon?”

_Waiting for you to come find me_ , she wanted to say. Instead she stepped forward, daring to throw her arms out to hug them both. It surprised them— Yellow hesitated just a little— but after a moment they hugged her back, just as tight and warm as she had always wanted.

“We’re gonna look awesome,” she promised, her voice muffled by the sensible clean cotton on their shoulders. “Thanks, Mom.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I had to cut out a ton of stuff in the interests of time, and I wanted to minimize the number of info-dumps in the main text. So if you're curious about any random detail, like exact ages or timeline stuff, I probably have an answer and will be happy to share!
> 
> I will say this up front: yes, that was the first time Spinel called either of them Mom. And yes, they both cried about it later.


End file.
